


Public Declarations

by afteriwake



Series: Where Speech Ends [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knew eventually Molly might grow tired of keeping their relationship a secret from the world at large, but he wasn't expecting to lose her completely by insisting it stay a secret. In order to keep his relationship with her, he makes a decision and decides to tell her what it is in a very public way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Declarations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrorfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorfangirl/gifts).



> Last one of the night, guys! The song that inspired this one, “A World Alone (Trashyouth Remix)” by Lorde, is an interesting song. If you listen to the full version of this remix, isn't very romantic (but as Sherlock says, it's more the chorus that gets his point across) . The actual song is a _tad_ bit more romantic, but not much. But I do enjoy the original just as much as this remix. The question used to inspire this story came from the article "[10 Unexpectedly Fun Questions To Ask On A First Date](http://www.hellogiggles.com/questions-to-ask-on-a-first-date/)" by Lisa Lo Paro.

**Were you popular in school?**

He hated being in the spotlight. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It greatly depended on what he was in the spotlight _for_. He'd always been pleased to be front and center in scholarly pursuits, to have his name mentioned for academic acclaim. It was when it deviated from that that he was uncomfortable. He had never had many friends, few at all, all through the first years of schooling. He had faded into the background and preferred it to the times when he was picked on and beaten. No attention was better than the wrong attention. When he had gone to university he had tried to cultivate friendships, or at least acquaintances. But that had gone poorly as well. It was why he had spent the last few years looking back on his school years with disdain.

The period of time after he had met John but before his fall had been some of the best moments of his life to that point. Even with the unwanted popularity that had come with being lauded as the world's finest consulting detective, he'd had a friend, a true friend. Well, to be honest, it was plural. It wasn't until it was all gone that he realized that while John was his closest and dearest friend Molly, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were friends as well at various degrees. And when he had to leave them, he realized the sudden turn in popularity would never change how those four felt about him.

When he returned he knew it would be front page news. The great Sherlock Holmes, alive. The press was quite pervasive into his life for a while, but it had died down greatly by the time John and Mary became man and wife and was almost nonexistent by the time he'd hatched the plan to trap Magnussen. It had made pulling off a fictitious relationship much easier because there wasn't always a man with a camera nearby. But the minute Janine sold her fictitious story to the tabloids and he had shot Magnussen and Moriarty's “Miss Me?” message had popped up all over every screen in the nation, there was always someone with a camera nearby. The world had gone back to wanting any tiny nugget of his life they could get.

He had hoped by now the general public wouldn't be hanging on edge for glimpses into his life, but he wasn't that lucky. His popularity seemed to have an ebb and flow to it, and this was one of the times when the world gave a damn about him. That could pose some serious problems, so he was careful not to give the paparazzi anything to report on in regards to his personal life. Oh, he knew Molly would probably enjoy being close to him in public, holding his hand or giving him a quick kiss, but that would bring her into the public consciousness more than she was. For the moment they were pretending to be close friends. No one had to know the real depths of his feelings, depths he was continuing to figure out as more days went by. He didn't want undue attention brought to her because it would be the same hell it was for him and she didn't deserve that. But more than that, it would bring a spotlight to just how important she was to him, and that in turn would make her more enticing as bait for whatever it was Moriarty had planned for him this go round, or worse, it would make her more enticing as a target on her own. Keeping up pretenses of friendship would keep her safer, no matter how much harder it was doing so.

It led to him having to be creative for ways to make her feel as though their relationship was an ordinary one. He liked her home well enough and she seemed to be quite comfortable in his home, and for the most part had few objections spending time with him in either place. He was glad about that, because behind closed doors he could be affectionate, be the boyfriend she deserved. He reacted differently to the instances of physical intimacy with Molly than he had other times he had needed to have them. He would actually savor the feel of Molly curled up next to him, watching a film on the telly, and enjoy the moment when her hand would brush his when he insisted on helping to make whatever meal she had felt like preparing. The kisses, the moments when he felt a wellspring of passion inside him come to the surface, stayed with him and brought him out of the dark thoughts he would sink into as he continued to puzzle out Moriarty's end game. She was a bright spot in his life, and he was happy for the first time in a truly long time.

Something didn't seem to be right at the moment, though. It had been building for a while and seemed to be coming to a head tonight. She was being quiet, quieter than normal. The usually companionable silence between them was strained. She was also holding herself away from him, not giving even the barest hint that she wanted to be close. The distance she was putting between them was confusing. And on top of it all she seemed to have something on her mind, and he wanted to know exactly what it was. He couldn't attempt to figure out how to rectify the situation if he didn't know what the problem was in the first place. “You have something you want to say,” he said quietly after another conversation starter between them hit a dead end.

She was quiet for a moment, looking at her food. Then she picked up her glass of wine and took a long sip. He usually avoided alcohol, especially since the disaster that was John's stag night, but there was now always a bottle or two of wine around for Molly to have a glass from. He knew it was relaxing for her and therefore it was worth the space in the refrigerator. When she was done she set her glass down and looked at him. “I don't particularly care if the entire world knows we're dating.” He opened his mouth but she held up a hand and he stopped. “I care about you, Sherlock. Very much. And I understand the practical reasons for trying to convince the world we're just friends. But I would love to be able to shout it out from the rooftops that we're dating, to be honest. I know you want me to stay safe, and I want that too, but I don't want to hide it anymore.”

He looked down and thought. He should have known it would get to this at some point, where she would want to be open about it. But he really didn't want to. Practical reasons were the main reasons, of course, but there was also a selfish aspect to it, that he had something that was all his own, that no one could ruin or take away from him. “I see,” he said finally.

“I don't think you do,” she said. “Sherlock, it's not even a well-kept secret. People talk, people speculate. I hear it and I see it in print and I just wish I could be honest, that I could say we are in a relationship and that we're quite happy with each other.” Then she paused. “If we are both happy, I mean.”

He looked up at her sharply. “Are you not happy with our relationship?” he asked.

“With most of it, yes. But with keeping it a secret? No. No, I'm not happy with that, not any longer.” She took the napkin off her lap and set it on the table next to her plate. “Do you want to make it public knowledge that you care enough about me to be in an exclusive relationship with me?”

“It's not the best idea,” he said. “Because--”

“Because Moriarty will find out and I'll be in danger? Because I'll be under the scrutiny of the tabloids? Because you'll have to admit that you care?” she said, her voice sounding angry. “I've been in danger the entire time, because we both know by now Moriarty has realized I helped fake your death. And the tabloids mean nothing to me. I don't care what other people think. I only care what _you_ think. And I don't think you want to admit you care about me in that way in public, Sherlock, and that's the worst part.” She stood up and looked at him. “I'm sorry. I just...it's been a long week and this all bubbled up, and now that it's in the open I don't actually want to deal with it right now. I...we can talk about it later.”

He watched her leave the table with wide eyes. He should have made a move to stop her, but he didn't move an inch as she went to the coat rack and got her coat, then picked up her handbag off the table where she'd set it. He stared at where she had been when he heard the front door open and then close, still trying to process what she had said. Did she honestly think he wouldn't admit he cared? He did care, more than she thought he did, more than he was used to caring. He just kept the fact he cared at all between them because it was special. He didn't want to share because he was afraid people would try and ruin it, make him doubt her or worse, make her doubt him. He was afraid people would try and sabotage his happiness. But he was doing that just fine on his own, apparently. He moved about in a daze, cleaning up the plates and glasses, putting the food away. It seemed so final, what she had said. It had seemed as though she was done with him, that she was done with _them_ , and he didn't want that at all.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since she left when he decided to do something about it. He was never really any good with words, with articulating how he felt in a way that would show how deep his feelings ran, mostly because he felt as though he didn't have a poetic bone in his body. But he knew there was a way to speak to her that communicated things just fine. He went to the drawer and plucked her iPod out of it, and then grabbed the portable speakers she had given to him so that when she was there they could listen to music together. Music seemed to be something that connected them, bound them together. She would share new songs with him, slowly increasing his worldview and his perception of her. Some of it was pure drivel, and some of it struck a chord. And one song in particular would tell her very clearly how he truly felt. She should have been home by now, he thought to himself as he set the things in his hands down to put on his coat and scarf. There was still a bite to the air and he was going to make the most public proclamation he could, which meant he would be outside. He just hoped it worked.

He picked the things up again and then made his way out of his home to get a cab. It took a moment, but soon he was in the cab and on his way to Montague Street. He knew she was on the first floor with a flat that faced the street, so hopefully traffic would be light enough that she would hear it from outside her window. When he got to her building he paid the driver and stepped out, waiting a moment. It seemed to be quiet, even though it was early, but there was no light on in her flat. Perhaps she had retired early for the night. He moved to the left a bit and then forward, going almost directly under her bedroom window. He plugged the speakers into the iPod and then fiddled with the music player to get to the right song before pocketing it and lifting the speakers up and tilting them towards the window as the opening chords began to play.

Thirty seconds in a dog began to bark, just as Lorde's voice began to filter out of the speakers. He scowled in that general direction and then turned his attention back to the window of her bedroom, waiting for the light to turn on. He knew she knew this song; she'd sing along to it softly when it came on, and there were times he'd tune out the actual singer and listen to Molly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he did. She would definitely realize the importance of it. But as the actual song started, there was no change.

_We've both got a million bad habits to kick_  
_Not sleeping is one_  
_We're biting our nails, you're biting my lip_  
_I'm biting my tongue_

“Turn it down!” he heard someone yell from a window. Really, this was going to get embarrassing if she didn't come to the window soon, but he wasn't about to give up. The dog continued to bark and he heard someone else shout “Ugh, not another Lorde song,” and he realized he only had a little more time until someone actually tried to make him turn it off. But then the chorus kicked in and that was the important part.

_When people are talking, people are talking_  
_When people are talking, people are talking_  
_When people are talking, people are talking_  
_When people are talking, people are talking_

_Raise a glass, ‘cause I'm not done saying it_  
_They all wanna get rough, get away with it_  
_Let 'em talk ‘cause we're dancing in this world alone_  
_World alone_  
_We're alone_

“If you don't turn that bloody song off so help me...” the first person shouted towards the window, and Sherlock sighed as he saw no change in her bedroom window. Obviously she didn't care. He turned the music off, and there was a huffy “Finally” said in his general direction. He had tried the grand gesture and it hadn't worked, which was typical for him, he supposed. He turned to move to the curb and stopped as he saw Molly standing next to him, a bag of groceries in her arms. 

“Sherlock?” she asked. “What were you...?” She trailed off as she looked at him, confusion on her face.

He blinked for a moment and then shifted his hold on the speakers. “I had thought you were home,” he said.

She lifted up the bag. “I went and got some of my comfort foods,” she said. “Crisps, ice cream and strawberries.”

“Strawberries cost an ungodly amount right now,” he said.

“Yes, but they taste very good.” She lowered the bag slightly. “Why were you playing music outside my bedroom window?”

“I wanted to show you that I will publicly share how I feel about you,” he said. “If you want our relationship to be public, then it should be public. I won't keep hiding it.”

She smiled at him. “You do realize the actual version of that song isn't really a romantic song, right? That this remix changes the meaning by leaving out bits of it?”

“No, because you haven't put it on here for me to listen to yet,” he said, the corner of his mouth inching up slightly. “But it was the chorus in this version that said what I wanted to say more than the rest of it.”

“Then I'm glad I got to hear that part,” she said. “I suppose I could invite you up and share the original version with you, for comparisons sake. If you want to, I mean.”

“I would be amenable to that,” he said with a nod.

“All right. Good,” she said, her smile widening. She moved closer to him. “The whole not caring who knows...does this mean I can actually snog you in public now?”

“That was part of what my declaration meant,” he said as he took a step closer to her.

“That's very good to know,” she said, closing the gap. She leaned in as he tilted his head down and kissed him softly. She seemed not to want to separate, and if it hadn't been for both of their arms being full he would have pulled her close and kept kissing her until he was forced to stop. But too soon she pulled away, looking up at him with a wide smile and bright eyes, and suddenly there was clapping, whistling and cheering heard from other tenants in her building. She laughed, her eyes getting even brighter, and blushed slightly. “Well, I can see it won't be a secret much longer around here.”

“That's fine,” he said, giving her a slightly wider smile. “We'll deal with whatever comes our way together.”

“Good,” she said. “Come on. Let's go inside.” And with that she turned to her building and he followed, knowing that he had done the absolute best thing he could and it had paid off handsomely.


End file.
